Windmills and Walls
by snitchnipped
Summary: "When the winds of change blow, some people build walls and others build windmills."—Chinese Proverb. Ten days after their return from the wardrobe, who is proving to be walls and who the windmills? Written for the 2015 Narnia Fic Exchange. Part of the Dichotomy universe.
1. Susan, on Peter

This is a standalone story from the Dichotomy Universe - though familiarity with the previous stories is highly encouraged.

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 **Coombe, Cornwall, U.K. July 26, 1940.**

 **6:00 PM.**

They were home. Whatever that meant.

Susan did not know what home was anymore. Currently, Professor Kirke's manor house held the title, as it had once before—fifteen years ago or last week, pick one. Her real home, the home with Mother and Father and Peter and Edmund and Lucy in Finchley…that had not been home in fifteen years or one month, pick one. And Narnia…

 _No._

Susan sat up from her prone position on the overstuffed chaise, twisting her back with a satisfying crack. Seeking privacy and solitude, she knew she would find it in the last few hours of this beautiful summer day in the quiet library, while everyone else enjoyed the late sunshine of the outdoors. So, instead of pacing the rose garden with ever-restless Lucy at her invitation, Susan chose to take refuge on the tufted Edwardian piece in front of the window that offered the best views of the sprawling estate, with its rolling green hills, the small patch of woods, and the lazy windmill in the distance, slowly turning in the late afternoon breeze.

But she just hurt too much—in more ways than one—to enjoy the English countryside.

And at this moment, she was physically aching. She had not suffered from her monthly courses here in England, before they had left through the wardrobe. But, of course, almost the very moment she had returned, they had rushed her entrance into womanhood with a vengeance. Had she suffered in those early days in Narnia? And for so _long_? When they—

 _Oh, bother._

Another cramp interrupted her thoughts, and she collapsed back onto the chaise, pulling the old ceramic hot water bottle that Mrs. Macready had dug out for her the day before. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement through the window… it appeared Peter had somehow fashioned a sword out of branch from the nearby wood. And… was that…?

She glanced up and saw the empty space over the mantle. Yes. Edmund had acted on his idea and had managed to nick the sword that had previously been on display above the fireplace in the library. Though it was much smaller than Edmund's own sword, Skar—

Susan frowned. Skarden? Skarpen? For the life of her, she could not recall its name. She dug around her mind trying to remember the day Edmund had named it, when he had first took it in the practice field, just a few weeks after he had received it during recovery, and he had gleefully tested it out while sparring with—

 _No, do not think that now._

She focused her attention on the action outdoors for awhile. While she had been lost in thought, Edmund seemed to have given up trying to manage the ancient sword, and he instead appeared to be coaching Peter through his exercises from the seated comfort of a fallen log.

She turned her attention to her elder brother. Though younger than he was a mere week ago, Peter's fighting form was still magnificent. Naturally. She expected nothing less.

She envied Peter's reaction to their return. He was always one to keep things in stride in front of others. After they had all found themselves tumbling out of the wardrobe, and falling into a pile of gangling limbs of their youth and the dull, scratchy fabrics of war-time British children's wear, Peter merely had stood up, brushed the dust off of his elbows and knees, assessed the state of his siblings, and said, "Well. There's that, then."

And he had been at outermost appearances a rock ever since. Comforting Lucy and her sniffles that she bravely refused to hide, patiently listening to Edmund's endless theories of what had happened to them and possible solutions to get back, and respecting Susan's solitude… for the most part.

But Susan knew better. Deep down, she knew Peter was angry and lost. Perhaps it was a different kind of anger than hers, but definitely a much more vocal kind than she ever had when in expressing any frustrations.

And, as they were the eldest, he was aching to reach out to her, she knew. Just as he had before they left England, just as he had while they were in Narnia, and just as he wanted to upon their return.

Normally, Peter was a fixer, and had it been just a few years earlier, Peter would have tried to get Susan to open up at every chance he could to discuss her problems with him. He did, indeed, on that first night upon their return, softly knock on her bedroom door, craving a chance to talk with her. She indulged him that first night, though she offered very little to his venting. He tried to do the same each night since, approaching her door after Edmund had retreated to his room to scribble in his journal and Lucy to catch her dreams. But she feigned sleep every time. He had stopped knocking two nights ago, much to Susan's guilt-ridden relief.

But Susan believed that he didn't need her, not really, and he didn't even bother trying to speak with her during the daytime, although she would occasionally catch him looking at her with a worried expression. After all, he had Edmund and Lucy. And now that their host knew, he also had Professor Kirke. But he knew better than to try with her anymore. Or, at least, for the time being.

That's what 25 years of sibling-hood taught you, Susan supposed. But as thankful as she was for his polite distance, there was an ever-growing part of her that was ever-much the 13 year old innocent girl from before they left who _did_ crave both his advice and his shoulder.

And he would always be High King Peter the Magnificent who would never rest well until each and every one of his subjects, his siblings included, had more comfort than himself.

And for that, Susan was so proud of him. She missed the man he had become back in Narnia. And she had missed the adult Edmund, and the young woman that Lucy had become, but most of all—

 _No, do not think that now. Do not think that ever._

Susan smoothed the crinkled seams of the patchwork quilt she had draped over her legs despite the summer heat. Perhaps if she chose not to think about it, any of it, at all, the memories would all disappear, fade away into the nether. They had already started slipping, like her siblings had forgotten about England back in… back in that other place, while Susan had fought against it.

And now, she wanted nothing more than to forget everything, everyone that she had just left.

 _No. No, do not think that now. Do not think of_ him.

Susan blinked back the unwanted tears that came. She had not let a drop fall since their first night upon their return, and definitely not in front of anyone else. And she was determined to keep it that way. If Peter were to change his mind and come knocking on her door again tonight, she would not give in. She could not.

She adjusted the hot water bottle that she clutched to her middle as another pang of pain hit. Once she pulled the worn quilt up to her chin, Susan let her head fall back again to watch the marvelous, courageous, and brave High King slay whatever invisible Giants with a makeshift Rhindon he could before the Macready rang the dinner bell.


	2. Peter, on Lucy

**8:00 PM.**

Peter watched the dining room's door swing behind his sister— _I'm tired, I believe I'll retire early_ , Susan had muttered before exiting—and turned towards his youngest siblings, who were still chuckling over the story Lucy had told of the last time she had gone to market with Mr. Tumnus.

When the laughter died down amongst them, Lucy started in on her pudding, chewing thoughtfully. "It's so strange being back, and being stuck here in one big house after where we just came from," she admitted between bites.

Peter nodded in agreement, while Edmund answered with, "Strange is an interesting way to put it."

"There's little to do here," she continued. "As large as this house is, it's no castle to explore. I miss my friends—the Beavers, Mr. Tumnus. There are no delegations to receive, no diplomatic missions to plan. And the parties, Peter." Lucy looked towards him, her eyes wide with woe. "The _parties!_ And to think we left before we could even have the Spring Equinox Fete! Do you suppose they held it without us?"

Edmund pierced her with a dark gaze. "I imagine they have other things to worry about than having the party."

Lucy gave the remains of her pudding a poke with her spoon. "I suppose you're right." She neatly set her spoon down. "I-I hope they're alright."

Peter gave what he hoped was a convincing smile. "I'm sure they are. We left the kingdom in good order."

Edmund let out a grunt. "Save for the chaos that's normally left behind upon the mysterious disappearances of a ruler. Or four."

"Edmund," Peter chastised.

"Sorry," Edmund said, with an apologetic smile to his sister. He crumbled up his cloth napkin and tossed it besides his plate. "I'm sure everything is being handled, Lu. And even if not, there is nothing we can do about it now—worrying about it solves nothing." He stood up and pushed his chair in. "I left something upstairs, I'll be back in a tick."

Peter gave Edmund a nod as his brother slipped out of the dining room. The sounds of Edmund's shoes retreating up the staircase echoed in the otherwise quiet household. They had suppered late, upon their request to the Professor to honor the hours of their still ticking internal Narnian clocks, with Mrs. Macready waiting patiently in the kitchen for them to finish so she, too, could retire for the evening. Peter was slowly adjusting back to England time, but it seemed as if his youngest siblings still could not shake off the excess energy that followed them into the late hours.

Even now, as Lucy sat next to him at the dinner table, her blue eyes were wide-eyed and alert, he could almost hear the gears turning within his sister's head.

"Who do you suppose _is_ in charge, Peter?" Lucy finally asked him.

Peter did not have an answer to that. None of them did, really, and no one had had the courage to even ask thus far. There wasn't much of a failsafe put in place quite yet—what with there being two kings and two queens, and those four rarely being in the same place at once—and the idea of having no one to sit on the four thrones, let alone one, had not crossed their mind before they had left. There had been too many other pressing matters to handle first.

And the fact that he had not planned for such a scenario angered Peter to no end, but he daren't share his frustrations on his siblings.

"I don't know, Lu. But Edmund was right earlier," Peter said. "Worrying will get us nowhere. And we are here now. We're back home."

"Narnia was our home, too," Lucy said with a frown. "Is. It still is."

"But this was our home first," Peter said. "And we have each other, and we will soon be back with Mother and Father. And there's always school."

Lucy slumped back in her seat. "Oh. Right. _School_ ," she said with a sigh. "I had forgotten about that."

Peter reached over and gave one of her short golden curls a tug. "But this time you can show all your classmates up, Lu, instead of being written up for daydreaming."

Lucy rolled her head to look at him, knocking his hand away in the process. "If anything, I will be daydreaming more, Peter."

Peter grinned and leaned back in his chair. "Yes, but at least your age and wisdom will allow you to be able to get away with it this time. No more falling behind in maths."

"It will be hard, though," Lucy said. "I will have little in common with the other girls my age."

"Perhaps," he said with a shrug. "But you know you are incapable of not making friends, Lu."

Lucy wrinkled her nose at him, very much the little girl again. "That was a compliment, right?"

"It was," Peter replied with a chuckle.

Peter realized how much he missed this younger version of Lucy, all wistful and innocent looking. They had grown up fast, and Peter was slowly starting to realize that seeing this side of his siblings again could be a gift. In the old days, in Narnia, in those first few years of their reign, they didn't have time to be children. There was too much to learn, too much to explore. It hadn't bothered himself or Su as much, he thought, since they had already been on the cusp of adulthood. And Edmund… well, Edmund had changed for the better. His childhood had not been very pleasant the first time, and Peter doubted his brother was keen on a second chance.

But Lucy? This was Lucy's chance, she had the blankest slate of them all. He had hopes for her, yet he feared for her, too… for upon their return, they all had kept their minds if not their bodies. And with Lucy being the youngest and physically only half way to adulthood….Lucy, he feared, could also possibly have the hardest adjustment of all of them. As much as Peter had hope for her, he also had worry.

"But there's also the war, Peter," Lucy continued, her voice just above a whisper, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

"Yes. There is also the war," Peter quietly admitted.

Family. School. War. _How could we have forgotten?_ All _of this?_ Peter thought, remembering how easily the memories had slipped from their minds in those first few weeks in Narnia. _And it is happening again…_

"How about it, Peter?" Edmund said, interrupting Peter's thoughts, as his brother poked his dark head inside the dining room door. "Fancy a game of chess in the library?"

Peter stifled a yawn. All of these thoughts and worries tired him. "No, not tonight. I'm rather exhausted from training earlier."

"No doubt. I'm surprised your puny little arms could even manage that little stick earlier," Lucy said, her eyes glinting as she teased, her previous worries seemingly forgotten for the time being.

Peter shook his head at her, but couldn't keep the grin from forming. "Coming up, Lu? It's getting late."

"No, I think I'll stay up with Edmund. I'm too wound up to even think of sleeping."

"If you say so," Peter replied. "No lie-ins, though, for either of you. We should continue what we started this morning…our minds and memories are freshest when it's early, are they not? So, no lie-ins. For either of you."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Edmund saluted, holding the door open for Peter as he passed. "Bright and early, sir."

"Goodnight, Peter," Lucy called out.

"Goodnight," he replied and exited to climb the grand, wooden stairwell.

He slowly trudged up the stairs, lost in his thoughts, letting his palm run along the freshly waxed railing. Once a the top, he caught himself going in the direction Su's room again, hoping to catch her awake to tell her of their plans for the morning. The last two nights he had gotten as far as her door, with his knuckles poised, but stopped himself just short of rapping on the wood.

 _No, not tonight. She just needs time_ , Peter thought, and trudged back to his bedroom at the top of the stairs.

Peter believed in his heart that he could manage this change, as hard as it was. He could find the positives in getting a second chance of adulthood. But as much hope as he had, Peter also hated the idea of the potential harm it could bring to his siblings. And he feared for them, for their futures… Lucy, most of all.


	3. Lucy, on Edmund

**10:00 PM.**

"I wonder who else has been there," Edmund said. "Besides the Professor, of course."

Lucy draped herself on the chaise that Susan had laid about on all day, smoothing the skirt of her dress down to cover her knobby, childish knees. How her sister had stayed comfortable in the warmest room in the house in the summer heat was beyond her…but there was little she understood about Susan these days.

"Do you suppose there were others?" Lucy asked.

Edmund settled himself in the leather wingback chair by the library's fireplace, and took out a pencil from his pocket. "Well, of course, there was the Polly that Professor Kirke mentioned. I look forward to meeting and talking with her."

"Me too."

Professor Kirke had promised to contact Polly as soon as it was safe for the children— _children! Ha! We're_ children _!_ — to leave the countryside once again. Lucy did not know how she could ever remain patient until they were able to meet and talk with her and share their adventures in Narnia with someone new.

"It makes me wonder," Edmund continued, "if there is any family left behind we could contact of King Frank's or Queen…Queen… what was it again?"

"Helen."

"Helen! Yes, of course it is. How could I forget that? It's our own mother's name." Edmund scrunched his brow. "This is getting rather disconcerting," he said, making a note in his journal.

It was. Which was why her mind would not stop whirling, and she would not _allow_ her mind to be idle, which was a shame, because there was nothing more she loved than to be idle and carefree and not worry about what was to happen to her the next day, and the day after that…

Lucy sighed. She much preferred helping others through their problems than deal with her own, of course. But for the last two weeks it had been nothing _but_ problems. Peter was being overly protective, Susan had holed herself away and wouldn't talk to anyone, and Edmund…

Well, Edmund was actually doing fine. Certainly much better than she thought he would. He was still the same Edmund from Narnia. But he was a different Edmund from England, and for that, she was more thankful.

Lucy made a mental note to pray to Aslan before bed tonight, thanking him for the change in her brother. He had been on a path of destruction before they had left for Narnia. But now he was a changed man—

 _Boy!_ she thought with a giggle, recalling Edmund's voice crack earlier that evening at dinner. Poor Edmund had merely groaned and buried his face in his dinner napkin. It was going to be a fun couple of weeks. Who knew she'd have the chance to delightedly tease her brother through this embarrassing time for him again?

Lucy yawned and reached back to pull her hair in a braid in preparation for bed…only to grab the ends of her bobbed curls in one fist. She sighed in frustration, brushing her hair up and off her neck before quickly resting her head against the back of the chaise. It was a warm summer night, and she loathed the feeling of hair sticking to a sweaty neck. She was not her sister—it would take forever for her hair to grow back to its previous length.

She thought back on the previous summer, when she had made a month-long journey to the Lone Islands with her eldest brother. Or was it Galma? She'd have to ask Peter again in the morning, but she was pretty sure that last trip was to Galma.

There had been a pleasant heat there, the kind where the warm, humid air sunk deep into her bones, naturally slowing her and everyone else's pace. Lucy had worn her hair in a long braid that she had wrapped around her head to keep it off her neck, just like the women there did. And she had indulged in the local fashion of gauzy gowns in sun-bleached colors, that only came to her ankles, and that also allowed her those few sweet weeks of not having to bind her breasts…

Lucy glanced down to the buttoned front of her dress. Not that she had to worry about those anymore.

On the island, the looseness had felt simultaneously wicked and freeing, but now she felt a little…well, a little bare.

She ended her daydream, and let out another sigh. She looked over at her brother, who was scribbling away. "What are you writing in that little book of yours now?"

"Your story about Tumnus from dinner. This 'little book'," Edmund said, finishing a sentence, and brandishing the journal above his head, "is going to be the first of many, not unlike in Narnia. This time I'm going to take advantage of this fresh start and be a bit more organized in my writing."

Lucy snorted. "If the teachers here will ever be able to break your habit of horrible penmanship."

Edmund didn't acknowledge her, and had instead returned to writing.

She was reminded of what Peter had said earlier at dinner, about them having to return to school. She hoped Edmund would thrive in his studies this time around. He had had such a difficult time before in staying focused and making friends, even before the war had started and made learning difficult for everyone.

But Edmund had so many close friends in Narnia—really, almost rivaling Lucy—and they all had discovered how studious Edmund really was by nature. Perhaps there would be opportunities for Edmund to shine here in England as much as he had in Narnia. She hoped so.

"Damn, I need a drink," Edmund said, shaking his hand out after writing quickly for so many minutes. "Do you think the Professor would mind if I nick just a nip of his brandy?" he asked, already eying the liquor cart.

"Do you think that's a good idea, Ed?" she asked. "I reckon your tolerance of spirits would have reverted back…just like your voice."

"Oy, it's changing!" he scoffed, crossing to the cart to pour himself a glass.

Lucy let out a wistful sigh. "What isn't these days?"

She watched her brother as he returned to his seat and swirled the brandy around the snifter. It was funny—a young boy, dwarfed by the hand-me-down button-up shirt of Peter's that he had yet to grow into, seated in an high-seated armchair that he had to slouch down in for his scuffed up shoes to reach the floor, and cradling the glass of amber fluid that would have been a suitable nightcap back in Narnia, but here was more than likely to be the culprit of a truly awful headache in the morning.

She would've laughed at the comical sight, but she felt that she had teased Edmund enough for one evening.

"Being a child again is rather revolting. Don't you agree, Lu? I'd rather not have to think about it until I have to." Edmund took another sip and smacked his lips in appreciation. "In the meantime, this helps."

"Whatever it takes, Edmund," Lucy said with a grin.


	4. Edmund, on Susan

**Midnight.**

She had been unwell for over a week. Edmund thought she looked rather anemic. Pale and weak. _You look just terrible_ , he would have told her had she asked. Well, had she asked in Narnia. But she didn't ask him. Edmund rarely saw the Susan from Narnia anymore. His closest confidante, one who shared most everything with him—even her innermost secrets that neither Peter nor Lucy knew—was tight-lipped since their return ten days ago.

Still, it did not stop him from trying. He made his way to her bedroom, carefully avoiding the creaky floorboard in front of his brother's bedroom door. Peter was still the light sleeper that he was in Narnia, after all.

He hesitated briefly as he arrived in front of Susan's room. He knew Peter would knock on the door, and turn away when unanswered. But Edmund would knock on the door and go in anyway. So he did just that, his eyes averted on the slight chance she was not decent.

He walked into a somewhat dim and stuffy room and noticed the curtains were drawn, the lone electric lamp on the nightstand providing the only light that created oppressive shadows against the dark walls. His sister was an unmoving lump of a girl leaning against the headboard with blankets drawn up to her waist. She had a bundle gripped tightly to her middle, but he could not make out what it was.

"Susan," Edmund said. She looked up, the dark circles under her eyes that have plagued her for days even more prevalent in the dim light of the room. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she croaked out. "Yes, sorry."

He had asked her that every day all week, and he got the same answer each and every time. "I can't say that I believe you. What's really wrong, Su?"

"It's just the normal trials and tribulations of becoming a woman, is all, Edmund," Susan said with an attempt at a smile. "Nothing I haven't experienced before."

"Trials and tribulations? Such as?"

" _Becoming a woman_ , Ed," she said, lifting her arms to reveal the antiquated ceramic hot water bottle she was clutching.

"Oh. Oh!" Old child-Edmund would have grimaced and left the room. New child-Edmund kept himself in check. "I, er…," he cleared a throat that did not need clearing. "I don't remember them, er, it being this bad. Then."

"It wasn't. It's different this time. Here."

"Oh," he said again.

Susan heaved a big sigh and leaned back on her pillows. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

Edmund strolled towards the window, and pulled back a curtain to look out to the moon-lit garden below. "Since when have I ever adhered to a bedtime?" he said, turning to give her a smile.

"Well, I suppose you had one when you were ten," she said with an arch of her brow.

"Ah." Edmund dropped the curtain. "Point taken."

Edmund supposed that this would have been an opportune time to exit and leave her be, but dammit, he was tired of seeing his eldest sister so sad. Just two weeks prior, she had been so _happy_ , the happiest he had ever remembered seeing her…

"I haven't had a chance to tell you this yet, but Lu and Pete and I ended up talking before breakfast, and we have decided to meet every morning and go through everything we can remember about Narnia. See?" he asked, holding up the new journal that the Professor had given him. "I'm even writing it all down, so nothing is lost."

When his sister didn't reply, he knew it was time to address the Elephant in the room. It had been long enough, and he was tired of skirting around the issue.

"Perhaps it would better if we let Peter and Lucy know about everything between you and Per—"

" _No!_ No, Ed. You must not tell them. They are handling things so well. There is no reason to lay this upon them." She sat up straighter and looked him squarely in the eye. "I will be fine. I promise. I don't want sympathy… it'd be too much. And I… I just can't."

Edmund looked down briefly to his slippered feet. "I miss him, too, Su. I miss everyone, of course, and always will," he said. "But I cannot imagine what you—"

"I'd rather not talk about him, Ed, if you don't mind. Or any of it." Susan straightened up to adjust a pillow behind her and plastered on an unconvincing smile. "Why dwell?"

Edmund frowned. "Remembering is not dwelling."

"It's just as painful," she countered. "I am finding it hard to tell the difference."

"But it can, and _will_ , get less painful in time. I promise you, Su," Edmund pleaded. "Listen. You don't have to join us tomorrow morning, or any morning if you don't want to. I hope someday you will, but I will not pressure you, and I'll tell the others not to do so either. All the same…you know you can talk to me at anytime, right? About anything. That doesn't change."

Susan fiddled with the screw cap of the hot water bottle. "Even if everything else has changed, Ed?"

"Especially if." He crossed over to her bed and placed his journal on her nightstand. "So, will you? Talk, I mean?"

Susan sat, her gaze unfocused on her bedspread as she continued to twist and untwist the water bottle's cap.

Edmund took her in—the disheveled hair, the sad eyes, the pale pallor of her skin. He hated seeing her like this.

"I don't know," she softly answered, raising her head to finally look at him.

Their gazes remained locked for several long beats, and only broke when she had to quickly wipe away a tear with a trembling hand—the first he had seen her shed since their return.

Of course he did not believe her when she had said she would be fine. But he also knew that if she were to open up to him ever again, he would need to trust her and give her time.

He sat on the edge of her bed, and in a moment of affection that they never acted upon the last time they were of this age, of this place, Edmund took her in his arms and held her.

Susan remained stiff in his arms, and he did not know if he could ever get used to being the smaller of the two of them again. He held her for a good long while, and from the tell-tale shudder she could not keep under control, he knew that she needed this. And when she did not pull back, he also knew that she wanted this.

He planted a kiss to her ear before pulling away, and he braced her shoulders for a moment. Susan blinked away more tears that had finally managed to escape, and gave him a slight smile.

"All right," he quietly said, tucking a limp strand of hair behind her ear. He gathered his book from her nightstand and made his way to the door.

Before he exited, he turned to her and asked one last time, "Are you sure that you are fine?"

Susan nodded, once again the figure of poise and control, and broke eye contact with him. "I will be."

And that was that. There was no further pressing Queen Susan.

He turned into the hallway, quietly closed the door so as not to wake his other siblings, and made his way to his room to make one last entry in his journal before retiring. Despite the late hour, he would still get up early to meet with Peter and Lucy at the agreed upon hour—the hour they would from now on spend every morning, sharing every story, going over every memory they had of Narnia so none of it would disappear.

Susan might not join them in the morning, but Susan would come to them eventually. In her own time.

He hoped.

* * *

"When the winds of change blow, some people build walls and others build windmills."—Chinese Proverb

* * *

Many thanks to snacky for once again hosting a marvelous exchange, and to my most excellent beta reader, lady_songsmith!

Please drop by the 2015 NFE archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!


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